Some think
That
They are are better equipped
To tell a story well
And for that, I ask for your forgiveness in advance
IF one must be literary
In order to be considered poetic
Alas these words shall not fall short
In the longest hour
For what are words if only, this, words
The pattern for which one’s heart beats is rhythmic
So why can’t
One’s words be
Rhythmic as the beat of a drum
From this we learn to keep time
Yesterday
I discovered something wonderful
My words
Yesterday
The sea made up its mind
And swallowed me whole
Thus allowing me to be brought back alive
Washed anew
Cleansed by
Holy Water
Yesterday
I
Discovered
My soul
For this I, I was only told of
But, never knew
What is poetry
Without
A bit of pain
What is a drought
Without
Without
The eventual drop of rain
From both so much can grow
Someone’s
“You can’t”
Has driven me
To say, “I can and I will”
My haikus
Are not structured in patterned syllables
Instead
They are gently laid on tracks
That move thoughts from your
Brain and into your heart
Perhaps inverse if left to their own devices
Whom amongst us is abstract
Picasso’s love child?
No one stands and embraces this honor
Yet, YOU stare at a page and wonder
Am I abstract
Are my lines drawn in a way
Which allow all to see its
Beauty
What IF
But for a moment
Beauty wasn’t in the eye of the beholder
What lies would be told
(Chuckles)
What lies are being told
Today, I was told, “You won’t…”
And I sat within a dark room
And “I did…”
For with light you can find your way
However, in the darkness
I searched
I searched
I searched
For a way
A way
To
Your eyes
A way to the light
For what are words
Without a message
Inversely what is a message
Without words
Now the question is
Whom amongst us is literary
So literary that they do not feel
Nor shed light upon their every word
No one
And for that
We are all
Poets....